A Mini Moment of Awe ✨
(And feeling enough)
👋🏻 Hello, I’m Anna 👋🏻 An adventurer, author of six books and Restless Mumma to three small humans. Each week I write a post about adventure, travel, daily chaos and the inner workings of my noggin’ 🧠⚡️
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Hello Restless Peeps,
If you asked me about the things in life that have filled me with awe, I’d tell you about pedalling over mountains.
I’d talk of running along winding dusty roads, watching a flock of flamingos taking flight over a vast plain, or being among towering Redwood pines.
These are the places where I’ve felt the most rockin’ and complete. And I’ve known without a doubt that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be in the universe than standing in that very moment.
That feeling is, as we say in the west of England, lush.
But I also wonder, how do I find that awe when not I’m not in far flung places?
What would it be like to have more awe in everyday life? In the micro-moments between the mega adventures?
It’s a question I was pondering recently after snuggling myself up in some of
’s writing on awe, and it was midway through my think-a-thon, when something went down at home…I’ll let the post tell the story.
As always - thanks for being here. Catch y’all next week,
Anna xx
A Mini Moment of Awe
It’s 7pm and I’m at home. Jamie is out having a drink with his dad. The twins are asleep and it’s just me and Storm up and about downstairs.
We’ve just finished playing ‘Horsey’ (the general gist of which is that I am a horse and Storm is my rider/owner). She’s just convinced me to eat a carrot and some apples (for real) and we’re now in the kitchen, waiting for her bedtime milk to warm up.
To pass the time, she’s rolling around on a plastic trike, experimenting with it — kneeling up on the seat, zooming between the kitchen and the hall.
The microwave beeps to let me know that the milk is ready, so Storm does one last zoom into the hall.
Then she screams.
It’s a long, loud scream, but I assume it’s a standard toe smash on the door frame (which happens often). A bump and some pain that’ll go away in a few seconds. It’s then I see the blood.
It’s streaming out of her big toe and dripping onto the kitchen floor, making crimson splats on the cream tiles. My heart beats faster. There’s a lurch in my stomach as I move towards her. She’s now doing the silent crying thing — where there are long pauses between the actual cries.
Scooping her up, with blood still dripping from the toe, I drop to the floor and sit her on my lap.